


Coffee and Firewhiskey

by lydiamartinified



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:19:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiamartinified/pseuds/lydiamartinified
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He uses alcohol to escape the horrific images that makes sleep cruelly evasive. She drinks coffee in the middle of the night for similar reasons. Their frequent run-ins turn into something neither of them anticipated; something that will either destroy them or help them find what they have been missing. One-shot. COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and Firewhiskey

**Coffee and Firewhiskey **

Author's Notes: So I haven't done much writing in a long while, but I was listening to The Calling's song Things Don't Always Turn Out That Way and I all these words just seemed to flow from my fingers to my laptop. Enjoy. :)

* * *

_ 31 January 1999  _

It was going to be another sleepless night for him, he was quite sure. He had been agitatedly tossing and turning in his cramped bed for the past two hours, sleep more cruelly evasive than usual. His body felt so bone-weary that even his soul was crying out in exhaustion, but his brain was in a hyperactive mood and refused to shut down. The thought of asking his flatmates for some sleep potion nudged his mind, but the remaining shreds of his pride simply would not let him do such thing. He'd brew the damned potion himself, but he was sorely lacking in the needed ingredients. He had no choice but to resort to another tactic.

Forcing himself out of bed, he slipped on his trainers and made his way out of his so-called bedroom, pausing by the full-length mirror by the door when he saw his reflection. His white-blond locks were bed-mussed, as though he had been neglecting the use of a comb for the past weeks. Dark circles which betrayed his sleeping habits (or lack thereof) bruised the translucent skin under his lifeless gray eyes. His face looked gaunter, his cheekbones and chin more sharply defined than ever. He gave an inward scoff at the reflection of the pale, scruffy-looking boy wearing muggle clothes, not daring to believe the physical changes that had taken place since the war began. His mother would have an apoplectic fit if she saw him like this.

_"Just live for us, Draco..."_

His eyes slid close as a fresh wave of searing pain shot through his chest. His poor mother... the gruesome image of Narcissa's mangled body flashed behind his tightly shut lids, the last echoes of her tormented screams ringing in his ears. Had he arrived a few minutes earlier, he might have had a better chance of saving her, and that damning fact never failed to haunt him since then. It was another black mark against his irreparable soul. And his father, who had been tortured to the point of insanity by Voldemort for refusing to reveal Draco's whereabouts, also constantly plagued his tormented cloud of thoughts. He was a failure to both his parents, and he would never forgive himself for that. He knew the Dark Lord was keeping his father hostage as a lure to get him out in the open, but the Order had been adamant in keeping him safe and well-hidden. The reason why they kept him alive still evaded him, but he suspected his mother had a lot to do with it.

When the ache in his chest dulled to a more tolerable level, he dragged his feet out of the bedroom and made his way down the rickety staircase. The safe house was engulfed in silence, meaning its occupants were all enviably asleep save for him. It was better this way, in his opinion. He was sick of seeing the piteous glances everyone sent his direction. He would have welcomed the suspicious and resentful looks he received before his unfortunate incident, rather than tolerate their nauseatingly sympathetic stares. He did not need their compassion; he wanted to be left alone.

With quiet footsteps he entered the empty kitchen and trudged towards the cabinet where he knew they kept the alcohol. An audible sigh of relief escaped his lips when he found the bottle he had been looking for at the topmost shelf. He hoped it would be enough to lull him to sleep tonight. After fumbling for a clean glass in one of the drawers, he settled on one of the chairs and filled his cup to the brim, clumsily spilling some liquid on the tabletop as he hurriedly drank himself to oblivion. He was refilling his third glass when the door to the kitchen creaked open, revealing a figure he didn't particularly want to see at such an ungodly hour, or any hour for that matter. Hermione Granger looked just as uneasy with his presence when she reluctantly let herself inside, her head bobbing subtly in greeting as she walked past him. He watched listlessly while she poured water into a kettle and whispered a boiling incantation. She grabbed a mug from the drawer and poured the hot liquid from the kettle, then procured a small sachet containing something which smelled like coffee, splashing its contents with haste into the cup. She tapped the steaming mug with her wand, and even from the distance he could hear the sloshing of the liquid as it stirred itself for her. He thought she was done with her business and would leave the room by then, but to his dismay, she pulled back a chair and sat across him, gingerly cradling the mug of coffee in her hands.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," she murmured, her teeth sinking down her bottom lip in poorly concealed discomfiture as she regarded him warily.

Draco filled his sixth glass with firewhiskey and sent a noncommittal shrug her way. He couldn't even bother moving lips to form a reply. She was simply not worth the effort. Just as long as she kept her mouth shut and she stopped staring at him like he was some pity case she has to fix, he was fine sharing the room with her. He knew she was not the sort to keep silent, however. And definitely not the sort to hide the mingled concern and compassion in her amber eyes. He began to mentally count, and was hovering between numbers ten and eleven when she spoke again.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" she inquired concernedly, taking in his bloodshot eyes and the surly line of his mouth with a trace of pity in her gaze.

"No one could fault your keen power of observation, Granger." he drawled, sarcasm heavy in his words. He eyed her mug of coffee with the tiniest hint of curiosity. "Just in case your genius mind missed this information—coffee is supposed to keep a person awake. If you're having trouble sleeping, that's not what you're supposed to be drinking."

The corners of her lips curled into a rueful smile. "It's one of the weird things about me—coffee makes me feel sleepy," she confessed shyly. "I usually consume two cups, three when I'm having a particularly bad night, then I'm off to dreamland,"

"Lucky you." he responded acerbically, unable to hide the envy in his voice. He wondered how many bottles of alcohol he'd have to ingest tonight just to steal a few hours of uninterrupted slumber.

"I have an extra vial of sleeping potion," she offered kindly, before taking a long sip of her coffee. She gave low hum of satisfaction as she swallowed two more gulps before proceeding. "Do you want me to get it for you? It would work better than that horrid thing you're drinking," the disdain was evidently prominent in her eyes as she glanced pointedly at his nearly empty bottle of liquor.

Draco took three deliberate swigs of firewhiskey before replying because he knew it would irritate her, and he ignored the burning feeling in his throat as the fluid left a scorching trail down to his gut. "If you have a bloody sleeping potion then why don't you use it on yourself instead of drinking that garbage?" he responded sardonically.

"I only use those for emergency purposes—"

"So I'm considered an emergency?" his pale blond brow cocked up.

"You look like an emergency," she answered hotly, her concern eclipsed by exasperation. "You've lost a lot of weight, and the circles under your eyes—"

"Well I hate to break it you, Granger, but you hardly look any better than I do—"

"Leave my appearance out of this!" she barked out. "I'm trying to help you—"

"I don't need anything from you, Granger." he sneered.

Hermione set her mug down, her eyes settling on the almost empty bottle of firewhiskey in front of him. "You've almost finished the whole bottle, but I don't think you're nowhere near claiming sleep yet," she announced knowingly. "It won't hurt to get a little help from us every now and then, Malfoy." her voice gentled, and she leaned closer to his direction. "I know we're not exactly friends, but we are all worried about you, and if you'd only give us a chance—"

"And why are you lot fretting like nannies over my welfare?" the mockery in his tone made Hermione's brows slash together in a disapproving frown. "Scared that McGonagall might dock points from your House if you don't keep ickle Draco alive within the next five years? Or will it affect that SPEW rubbish you're so bent on—"

"We're worried about you because we consider you our ally, and therefore—"

"Bollocks," he cut in rudely. "You and the Order wouldn't give a shit about me if my mother hadn't defected and decided to give your side the crucial information that eventually led to her—" his jaw was trembling so badly that he could not go on. A look of understanding crossed Hermione's face, and her expression softened.

"You're not the only one who lost someone in the war, Malfoy," she whispered, her honey-gold eyes glassy with unshed tears. "We all did, and we're all helping each other cope and make do with what's left. If you would only let us penetrate that protective shell you had wrapped around yourself, things would be a lot easier for—"

Draco snorted with unamused laughter."What, so you're telling me to be chummy with you and your pathetic excuses for friends now?" he asked disbelievingly. "The next thing I know I'll probably be holding hands with a Hufflepuff and singing nursery rhymes—"

"I was not suggesting such thing—"

"—with Longbottom and Weasley—"

"I swear you are the most stubborn man I've ever met—"

"And you're an overbearing shrew—"

Hermione looked just about ready to slap him in the face like she did when they were in third year. "Just accept our help, Malfoy, you honestly don't even have to say thank you or anything—"

The scathing look he sent her way should have made her keep her mouth closed, but she seemed too dense to mind her own damn business. "Get this through your thick skull, Granger—I only need one thing from you and your saintly friends—to leave me the fuck alone. Got it?" he slammed his glass down the table as he rose from his seat.

"Malfoy—"

He was gone before he could hear the rest.

* * *

 

_ 14 February 1999  _

Two weeks later he found himself unwillingly sharing a bottle of firewhiskey with her.

He was suffering from another unforgiving bout of insomnia, while she was nursing a broken something—her heart most likely, judging by the pathetic forlorn look on her face.

"Just one glass. Please?"

That got his feet moving to their own accord. The word 'please' never crossed Hermione's lips when speaking to him, not until that moment. Without thinking he had walked over to the cupboard and had pulled out another glass for her. He placed the drink before the stoically silent witch, but she made no move to take it. Instead she stared into nothingness, while a lone tear escaped her eye. He filled his own glass and drank heavily while he waited for her to speak; knowing Granger, she would tell him everything without him asking first. His eyes took in her chaotic hair coiled in a haphazard bun, maple coloured eyes glossed with unshed tears, sunburnt nose, quivering bottom lip dented with her teeth marks, tightly clenched fists. She looked positively battered, and the sight of her so undone made him let down his guard a little. It should have made him feel triumphant, bearing witness to Hermione Granger's vulnerable moment, but instead he merely felt disconcerted.

When a few minutes of excruciating silence passed and she still had not spoken, he decided to take matters in his own hands. "You still haven't touched your drink," he said idly. "Don't tell me you made me stand up and prepare a fucking glass for you for nothing,"

She blinked, as though noticing the glass full of firewhiskey in front of her for the first time; with a determined expression she took the drink and downed everything in two large swallows, wincing slightly at the taste but finishing the job nonetheless. Draco's eyes widened at what she just did; he knew for a fact that Granger never indulged in spirits, so it came as a surprise to see her consume the glass of firewhiskey like a seasoned drinker. He was about to open his mouth to comment when she thrust her empty glass in his direction. "Can I have another?" she asked in voice that was too calm for his liking. He absentmindedly poured her another glass, too astonished to decline her request. She silently drank her way to four more glasses before rising unsteadily on her feet.

Draco tried to hide his disappointment when he realized she had no plans of sharing her problems with him. Not that he was genuinely interested, but hearing whatever trivial thing that was bothering her would surely entertain him a little. After all, he could make do with any sort of distraction from the depressing prison of his mind. She nearly tripped over nothing and everything on her way out, her body teetering forward as she struggled to maintain her balance.

"Malfoy?" she called out weakly, leaning heavily on the doorway for support. Draco turned his head towards her, a questioning frown on his face. "Thank you. And Happy Valentine's Day." the words slurred on her tongue as she promptly slumped down on the floor and passed out in front of him.

"Shit—Granger!" he rushed over to her, horror crossing his features at the thought of being responsible for inebriating the bloody goody-two-shoes Hermione Granger. He really should not have let het drink that much, considering the fact that he knew about her inexperience with handling alcohol, but he had been unable to resist her pleading demand. McGonagall was surely going to strangle him for this. He toyed briefly with the idea of just leaving her unconscious on the kitchen floor, but he felt a questionable tug of pity in his chest cavity at her defenceless figure. "Rennervate," he mumbled, pointing his wand at her chest. A red light sparked off its tip, making Hermione's eyes pop open.

And then she vomited all over his shoes.

* * *

 

_ 15 February 1999  _

_I am terribly sorry for throwing up on you last night. And for drinking all your liquor. I hope this at least makes up for all the trouble I put you in the previous evening._

_\- Hermione_

Draco crumpled up the note and threw it into the fireplace, but he kept the cold bottle of firewhiskey and the small box of liquorice wands.

* * *

_ 12 March 1999  _

"You want some coffee?" she pushed her steaming pot towards him, but he was already shaking his head at her, his eyes looking at her disbelievingly.

"My goal is to get some sleep tonight, Granger, not the other way around. Keep your weird habit to yourself,"

Hermione clucked her tongue as she watched him unscrew the bottle of firewhiskey and pour its contents into his glass. "One of these days we're going to have to put you on rehab from all that alcohol you've been ingesting," she told him in that haughty tone that never failed to annoy him.

"What I do is none of your fucking business, Granger," he answered bitingly, quite tired of her incessant whining about his drinking habits. "I still get my job done, don't I?"

"But you're putting your health at risk—"

"Again, none of your business." he pointedly ignored her after that, but she was nowhere through with him just yet. _Nosy, controlling bint._

"Look, I know why you're doing it—I know that aside from helping you sleep better at night, it also temporarily blocks out the terrible memories, doesn't it?" she set down her coffee mug, her concerned eyes stirring the beginnings of mild panic and urging him to flee the room before she got too close to the things he did not want anyone to see. "Malfoy, trust me, there are other ways you can try. I suffer from insomnia as well, and I could help you find ways to overcome it. Sleeping potions may be scarce these days, but there are healthier ways for you to—"

He held up a hand to halt her senseless tirade. "Save your breath, Granger. What I choose to do with my body is not a bloody concern of yours. Besides, what help can you offer anyway? Let me lay my head on your lap and sing me a fucking lullaby? Get me a glass of warm milk and tuck me to bed? Read me a bedtime story to chase the bad dreams away?" he sneered at the disappointed look she gave him. "I am not a pity case you need to take under your wing, Granger—get that through your overinflated head, will you?" with that he brought his empty glass crashing down the tabletop, hard enough to cause her to flinch, then stood up and headed towards the door.

"I swear to Merlin I will make you quit, Malfoy." she vowed at his back, making him pause mid stride. "Consider your drinking days numbered."

"Good luck with that." there was a challenging hint in his tone that she did not miss.

* * *

_ 20 March 1999  _

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

_Tears fell from Narcissa's eyes as she watched the spell hit her only son. Draco's suddenly inert body fell backwards, but his mother whispered another incantation that let him land gently on the ground. Draco's eyes filled with wild panic, and no matter how hard he fought the full body-binding curse, he still could not move a single muscle nor release the scream clogging his throat. She placed a kiss on his forehead before placing a gold coin in his pocket._

_"Just live for us, Draco... Trust the Order, they will make sure you are well-protected... And please, darling, don't ever forget that your father and I love you so much..." He wasn't even given a chance to say goodbye as the portkey transported him away._

Draco's eyes snapped open, his breaths coming out deep and ragged, pulse pounding, hands frozen midair as if trying to reach for something... for someone who had long left the earth. He was still so wrapped up in his nightmare that he almost did not notice the soft knock on his bedroom door.

"Malfoy? Can I come in?" She still went inside despite his lack of response, pausing when she saw his wet cheeks and the haunted look in his eyes. "I heard you shouting in your sleep," she told him cautiously, genuine concern etched on her face. She pulled out a small bottle from her pocket and handed it to him. "I just wanted to give you this vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion," he made no move to take it, his dream-hazed mind still not catching on the fact that Hermione Granger had trespassed his bedroom. Gingerly she moved closer, hesitantly reaching over to pull his ice-cold hands and unclench his frozen fingers. The contact of their skins made him regain his full sense of consciousness, and a furious growl escaped his lips, his storm cloud eyes livid as her presence finally registered in his system.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE IN MY ROOM? GET OUT!" With lightning fast reflexes he had jumped out of the bed, his hands grabbing her painfully hard by the shoulders and pushing her forcefully out of his open doorway. The potion bottle dropped with a crash on the floor, startling them both and temporarily halting Draco's movements. He recognized the smell of the potion at once, but it still did not alleviate the boiling anger he felt about her entering his bedroom without his permission.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry—" His stormy grey eyes met her panicked amber-hued gaze. "Get. Out." the incandescent expression on his face plainly told her that no matter how good her intentions were, she had clearly overstepped her boundaries. "I just wanted to help." she whispered before he slammed the door to her face.

* * *

25 March 1999 

He cocked a pale brow at her when she tossed a book in his direction. He figured it was a muggle novel because he could not recognize the author and the title from the wizarding books he was so fond of reading.

"We've run out of firewhiskey and coffee so we'll have to make do with these tonight," she told him curtly, clutching a similar book in her hands. "I'd share some drops of my Dreamless Sleep Potion with you, but some violent bloke accidentally smashed its container a few nights ago,"

She was out of the kitchen before he could throw the book back at her.

* * *

_ 29 March 1999  _

"Thank you."

Hermione nearly spit out her coffee. She stared in incredulity at him, taking in his blackened eye, the bandage wrapped around his forehead, the split bottom lip, and the sling encasing his right arm. She was pretty amazed at the humbled look in his eyes, which felt very out of place sitting on the blond Slytherin's face.

"I was just doing what I had to do," she mumbled uncomfortably, still trying to reconcile with the fact that he just said those words to her.

"You did not have to jump your brave Gryffindor arse and break your wrist just to get me out of Dolohov's way," his half-lidded gaze fell on the sling on her left arm that matched his. "That was disgustingly heroic and typically Gryffindor of you, but I'm not complaining. If it weren't for you, I'd be a goner,"

"Well, you did not have to block the killing spell the other Death Eater aimed at me," Hermione shot back, the corners of her lips twitching in a smile. "That was uncharacteristically un-Slytherin of you, but you can't hear me complaining either,"

His smirk looked more like a barely suppressed smile that night, she noticed. "I wouldn't have bothered, but someone had to look after you, you careless twit,"

Hermione bit on her bottom lip to keep herself from grinning too widely. Expressing gratefulness obviously wasn't Draco Malfoy's strongest suit, but making him blurt out those words made her feel giddily victorious. "Fine. So we're even then?" she managed to maintain a straight face.

"Even."

* * *

_ 1 April 1999  _

She had been sneaking contemplative glances at him for the past quarter hour as she drank her coffee. He pretended not to notice, but he did. He most definitely did. It bothered him, how he was beginning to notice even the most mundane details about her. He was slowly being acutely aware of how even and straight her teeth were when she laughed or smiled too widely. How her maple syrup-coloured eyes flashed with annoyance when he managed to ruffle her calm demeanor. How she had this frustrating habit of gnawing on her bottom lip until it left visible teeth marks he could see even from afar.

"I'm in love with you." she told him in a dead serious tone.

It must have been the alcohol happily swimming in his bloodstream that made him lower his guards enough to welcome her friendly teasing that night. He snorted derisively over his ninth glass of firewhiskey, raising a brow at her cheekiness. "I honestly wouldn't be surprised if you were, Granger," he answered with a shrug.

"You honestly think I could fall in love with you?" Hermione's eyes were round with piqued interest.

Draco's shoulders lifted in another careless shrug. "Well no, not really, considering your crappy taste in guys—"

"You do not even want to go there, Malfoy—"

"—and it would be thoroughly insulting on my part to be put on the same level as Weaselbee, or Krum, or McLaggen, or whoever bloke you're currently hanging out with—"

"They are all decent men—"

"—but it would probably be a breath of fresh air for you to actually fall in love with someone who's more good-looking and smarter than all their puny brains put together—"

Hermione scoffed at his audacity. "I'm sure you don't mean yourself—"

"Who else would I be talking about, Granger?" he jeered. "I'm just trying to justify why it would hardly be a shock if you fell in love with me, considering the fact that I'm a gem compared to those wankers—"

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "It was a joke, in case you were too dense to realize—"

"I love you too, Granger." he deadpanned. Hermione held his mildly amused stare for a few more seconds before bursting into laughter.

"Happy April Fools, Malfoy."

He leaned over the table, pushing his glass aside, and met her mirth-filled eyes with a sombre expression. "I actually meant what I just said, Granger." he deliberately lowered his voice to what he hoped was a seductive pitch. She gaped at him like a freshly caught trout, looking so comically astounded that Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

"W—what?" she stuttered, going red in the face, but when a chuckle escaped his lips she knew she had definitely been fooled. She chucked a spoon in his direction in retribution, but he dodged the item quite easily, quidditch reflexes and all. "That better be your last attempt at confessing your undying love for me, because I definitely won't fall for it next time!" she told him good-naturedly, and his answering smirk told her that what she had just suggested was highly improbable.

* * *

_7 April 1999_

Two new recruits of the Order moved in the safe house that night, Mandy Brocklehurst and Astoria Greengrass. The hysterical Slytherin girl had just witnessed the Death Eaters murder her whole family, and it had taken three solid hours to calm her down. Tonks had given her a rather heavy dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion before setting off to rescue another batch of war victims. Astoria now lay sleeping in Hermione's bedroom with Mandy, who still seemed too shell-shocked to speak. 

Hermione spent a greater part of the evening moving her stuff to Ginny's bedroom across the hall. 

"You and Malfoy seem to be getting awfully close to each other," Ginny suddenly spoke up as they lay side by side on the bed, giving Hermione a frank stare. "You guys aren't shagging, are you?" she inquired nonchalantly, causing Hermione to choke on the water she was drinking. The brown-haired witch sputtered, going red in the face, and the youngest Weasley giggled at Hermione's reaction.

"That's disgusting, Ginny!" she made a face at the redhead. "Just because we've been spending time together doesn't mean that we fancy each other—"

"But Malfoy hasn't spent so much time with anyone before," Ginny argued with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You're the first person he's actually spoken to since he started living here—"

"That doesn't mean I'm having sexual relations with him!" Hermione responded hotly. "We're both having trouble sleeping at night so—"

"You spend your nights together?" Ginny sounded positively gleeful, and she was getting more agitated by the minute, even if she knew that the younger witch was only teasing.

"Yes, we spend it talking—" she hit ginny not-so-lightly on the arm with her water bottle. "—stop making that bloody annoying expression or I swear I'll—"

Ginny still wouldn't stop cackling like a maniac at Hermione's openly uncomfortable reaction to her teasing. "You sound disappointed about that, Hermione—" the rest of her words were muffled by the pillow that Hermione threw at her face.

"I swear to Godric I'll strangle you in your sleep if you don't stop right now, Ginny Weasley—"

"Ow, stop pinching me—alright, I'll stop—ouch!"

* * *

 

_ 12 April 1999 _

Hermione came to an abrupt halt as she sauntered towards the kitchen, the song she was humming falling back in her throat when she saw Astoria sitting across Draco, cradling a glass of firewhiskey between her hands. He turned his head to her direction, his surprised grey eyes meeting her equally stunned ones. It was as if he didn't expect her to be there.

Heat crept up her face in offended anger, because he should have realized by now that _this_ was their nightly routine, and now he let someone else into their private little world.  _Wait, what private little world?_ She thought, alarmed as realization dawned on her—she was jealous.

She was suddenly filled with a strong urge to cast up the contents of her dinner, and she had to swallow twice before she could speak. "Sorry if I interrupted you," she mumbled before spinning on her heel to leave.

She would never admit it to anyone, but she felt a knifing sensation on her chest when he did not tell her to stay.

* * *

 

_23 May 1999 _

He followed the trail of blood leading to the kitchen, and there he found her sitting on his usual seat with her back to him. He could hear her low hisses of pain as she struggled to roll the bandage on her injured arm. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and even under the dim light of the room he could make out the deep gash on her left cheek, the purple and blue bruise blossoming on her jaw, the jagged cut on her bottom lip. Her almond-hued eyes met his indifferent gray ones, and when she saw nothing but passive curiosity, she angrily bent over and tried to wrap the bandage over her wounded arm once more.

"You need to go to the infirmary, Granger." he said this as a matter of factly, not because he was concerned about her wellbeing in general.

"You need to go to hell, Malfoy." she gritted between clenched teeth, cursing when the bandage loosened despite her futile efforts to keep it together and slipping through her slack fingers. Draco's eyes widened a fraction at the hostility in her tone, which was so unlike her. She was about as friendly as a wounded bear tonight, he thought to himself. Strangely, however, seeing her in this state stirred a flicker of fascination in his bones, something the typically composed Hermione Granger failed to do.

He moved to stand directly in front of her, and before he could think the better of it, he snatched the bandage from her and wrapped her injured arm himself. "I'm already in hell, in case you haven't noticed," he responded brusquely, blatantly ignoring her whimper of pain while he worked silently on her injuries. After fixing her arm, he pulled out his wand and muttered a healing charm on her wounded cheek. She gasped audibly at the white-hot sting of the spell's contact on her skin, but after a split second, her cheek felt unmarred and pretty much normal. Her dumbfounded gaze seemed to drink him in while he concentrated on patching up her torn lip. The tip of his wand felt warm against her mouth, and she felt strangely feverish and dizzy as his warm breath fanned her face. The incantation he murmured sent the same stinging sensation which lasted all but a second, and her lips felt like her lips again, except it felt a little tingly from the heat of his prolonged gaze. Another surprised rush of breath whooshed from her lungs when he carefully ghosted his fingertips over her bruised jaw. She grimaced a little at the pain, but his gentle touch was not to blame.

"I don't think it's broken," his voice sounded deeper, huskier than normal. All of a sudden these crazy, incredibly insane thoughts flashed through her mind—she wanted his fingers to continue exploring her face; she wanted him closer, wanted his body heat wrapped around her. His unique, masculine scent intermingled with his aftershave, gave her a strong urge to bury her face on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. She wanted to lick him. She wanted to familiarize herself with his intimate flavor. Their eyes met once more, and whatever he saw in her openly assessing gaze sent him reeling back all of a sudden. His hand had left the side of her face, and she released a pent up breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Her cheeks felt scaldingly hot and her heart was hammering wildly against her ribcage. She sought his eyes for any hint of disgust or embarrassment, but he had slid on his mask of indifference once more. He turned around and fished a handkerchief from his pocket, opened the fridge and dropped some ice cubes on the center of the cloth before wrapping it up like a makeshift ice bag. He tossed the ice-filled hanky at her, and she managed to catch it with her good hand. It was obvious that he was repelled at the idea of standing so close to her again.

"Just put that against your face, it will lessen the swelling," With that, he spun on his heel and walked away from her.

She realized he had forgotten to get his usual bottle of firewhiskey that evening.

* * *

_ 25 May 1999 _

He loathed how his heart rate picked up speed every time he caught a glimpse of her. Every neuron in his system became extra sensitive when she was around. Her presence ate away at the shield he had built around himself, and he hated it, hated that he could no longer hate her. 

Of all the poison he could have chosen, it really had to be Hermione Granger. Astoria had been an interesting distraction, but she was a pallid contrast to Granger's rather colourful disposition. 

"Malfoy," she called out behind him, and even from the distance he could already feel his senses prickling with awareness, his heart lurching into frenzied beats inside his chest. He turned slowly to face her, and he saw his handkerchief, pressed and folded neatly, resting on her open palm. "I wanted to give this back to you—" she took a few tentative steps towards him, her mahogany-hued eyes looking abashed. She took a deep inhale at the touch of their fingers when he took the handkerchief from her. His fascinated gaze did not miss the way her hand trembled a little as it balled into a fist at her side. "Thanks," her voice came out breathless, and he wondered if the lighting in the hallway had something to do with the scarlet tinge on her face.

"Yeah, whatever," he answered lazily, moving away before his thundering heart betrayed his unvoiced thoughts.

* * *

  _05 June 1999 _

"Happy Birthday, Draco."

He gave a start at being called by his first name, and by Hermione Granger no less. And the fact that she was standing outside his bedroom door, a wrapped parcel clutched against her chest, did not make matters look less odd.

"Can I come in for a moment?" she asked timidly, peering up at him self-consciously. He had never paid any special attention to her physical attributes before, but at that moment he found himself taking in her fragile build, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, and recklessly he let his eyes wander and drink in their fill. The rat's nest she called hair was pulled back by a ponytail, exposing the facial features he suddenly found incredibly appealing. Her bright brown eyes were framed by thick lashes that fanned across the smattering of freckles on her cheekbones when she blinked. Her nose was small but curved into a slope he found to be just about perfect. And that mouth... her teeth forever gnashing down her plump bottom lip, a matter of habit she can't seem to get rid of. He tamped down the primitive urge to do the lip-biting himself, among other things he would love to do to her mouth.

He would rather fling himself off the nearest cliff than admit it out loud, but she had started to grow on him despite his efforts to shut her out, and he painstakingly acknowledged that he found her more physically attractive than any other girl he had been acquainted with. Her personality, of course, was a different matter altogether, but the contempt he felt had somehow shifted into something else during the past months—although she still irritated him to no end, she had also started to amuse him, and he began to grudgingly look forward to the sleepless nights they shared in the kitchen, him with his firewhiskey and she with her coffee.

He reluctantly stepped aside to let her in, catching a whiff of her shampoo when she brushed past him. She smelled so damn delicious—like vanilla and toothpaste. He closed his bedroom door and turned to face her, hoping his expression would not betray his wayward thoughts.

"This is for you," Hermione handed the package to him, still biting her bottom lip nervously while she waited for him to unwrap the parcel. His brows rose in surprise; he had not even expected her to know when his birthday was, but to bring him a gift and waltz right into his bedroom like she did it everyday definitely made things look more bizarre than usual.

His windpipe clogged, his eyes feeling hot and wet when he ripped open the packaging and the familiar scent of his mother's perfume reached his nostrils; his fingers shakily traced the patterns of her favourite shawl, memories of her hitting him like a stab in the chest. It had been two years since he last smelled that comforting smell, two years since he last saw that very shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders.

"H—how—?" he managed to choke out, the volatility in his gaze piercing through Hermione. He stood in flabbergasted silence before her, his whole body suddenly wracked by tremors.

"I was in Malfoy Manor with some of the members of the Order last week—that evening when you tended to my injuries—anyway, I hid inside your mother's chambers while waiting for one of the Death Eaters to pass by, when I saw that shawl draped over a chair and I remembered you—" a blush stained her cheeks at her confession. "—so I thought maybe you'd appreciate having something of hers, but I didn't have much time and I could not bring anything else—" she paused, positively entranced with the raw expression of longing on Draco's face, the first sign of emotion she witnessed since he started working for the Order. She felt her heart clench when she saw the glimmer of unshed tears in his silver eyes, and she had closed the remaining distance between them before her mind could keep up with her body's whims. Her fingers cautiously reached up to wipe away the building moisture at the corners of his eyes. His lids drifted shut, and after a few heartbeats she felt him move closer to her, Narcissa's shawl the only barrier between their bodies.

"Thank you." his voice was barely above a whisper, but she heard him loud and clear. She let her hands linger on his face for a few more seconds, and then she hesitantly stepped away from him. "When you got injured last week, did my father—?" he started, but she shook her head at him, her eyes sad.

"Your father—he wasn't in the manor. We think Voldemort may have moved him to a different location—Professor Lupin and the others are already working on the details so just hang on—" the rest of her words were lost in the heat of Draco's mouth. He had flung Narcissa's shawl on a nearby chair, letting his hands make their way to the back of her head as he angled her head to accommodate the onslaught of his lips. One, two, three, four seconds of pure shock passed through her system, then the fact that Draco Malfoy was kissing her finally registered in her rattled brain. His tongue laved across the seam of her lips, demanding entrance, and she let him in, her knees buckling weakly when he stroked the inside of her mouth with an urgent need that tugged all the way down her navel. His left hand left the back of her head to support her by the waist, pulling her closer to him, if that was even possible. His right hand touched her cheek as he continued to drug her with deep kisses that threatened to set her soul on fire.

"Granger," he uttered her name when he managed to tear his lips from hers. His eyes were bright with undiluted desire and some emotion she could not name. "Are you seeing anyone?" there was a cutting edge in his tone that demanded she tell him the truth. His hands remained on her face and waist, his grip solid but not constraining.

"N—no," she stammered, still in the process of catching her bearings from his mind-searing kiss. "Ron and I broke up a few months ago—"

"Good." he said, and then he was kissing her again. Her arms locked around his neck while he slowly maneuvered their bodies towards his bed, his mouth paying attentive assault to her, his teeth scraping lightly over her bottom lip before giving it a tentative suck, and then another, until she was positively moaning against him.

Hermione felt her back press against the mattress as he carefully laid her down on the bed. His hands were fumbling with the hem of her shirt, knuckles brushing on her bare skin underneath, pausing hesitantly as he reluctantly lifted his lips from hers. "Granger, are you sure you want to—"

She answered by pulling his head back down and continuing her enthusiastic exploration of his mouth once more. Her tongue glided timidly past his teeth, swirling a pattern that had his hips jerking uncontrollably against her. Feeling strangely empowered, she let her hands wander from his neck to the hard planes of his back, slipping his shirt upward so she could touch his skin. She let out a breathy whimper of complaint when he broke the contact of their lips to remove his shirt. Gently he tugged her by the upper arms to make her sit up so he could remove her top as well, and she could feel herself blushing under his appreciative gaze.

Her eyes drank in the sight of his beautiful, almost surreal silhouette, from the tousled silky white blond locks that fell over his forehead, those silver eyes, the thin, straight nose, those tantalizing lips, down to his bare torso, which was lean but still muscular from his days as the Slytherin quidditch captain. She let out a small gasp when she saw the hauntingly familiar tattoo on his forearm, and he self-consciously drew back, a pink flush tinging the crests of his pale cheeks. 

Hermione quickly reached for his hand, giving his palm a squeeze as she levelled her own scarred forearm to his. Draco lifted her arm, peppering gentle kisses against the letters that spelled _mudblood_ on her scarred skin.

"This is irrelevant," he murmured as he met her affected stare. "You did not deserve these scars—"

"Neither did you," she responded gently, her forefinger tracing the Death Eaters' emblem on his arm. "Your Mark does not define who you are—" she raised a hand to cup his cheek. "—so stop punishing yourself for the sins you haven't committed."

Draco's lowered lashes concealed his thoughts, but the next thing she knew she was back in his arms, and his lips were tracing a hot path from her jaw to the sensitive area at the side of her neck. Another moan swept past her throat when he sucked on the hammering pulse point, his tongue painting abstract patterns that made her writhe with the need for something only he could supply. His lips travelled from her neck down to her chest, and she swore she felt her heart leap out when his hand cupped her breast and his thumb flicked over her pebbled nipple. His hot, demanding mouth occupied her other breast, suckling until she bucked and sobbed in blinding pleasure.

With surprising deftness he pinned her back down on the bed, and he shed the rest of their clothing into a heap on the floor. She tried hard not stare at his jutting erection, quite disbelieving that she was able to stir such a reaction from him. Her brows furrowed, heat scalding her cheeks when he spread her legs and moved his face right in front of her womanhood. "Draco, what are you—"

He smirked up at her flushed face, his silver eyes looking very much wicked and determined. "You'll like this, Granger, I promise," his warm breath fanned her wet entrance, and to her mortification, he ran his tongue over the glistening slit and sucked at her clitoris. Her hips instinctively thrust upward to meet him stroke per stroke, incoherent words and pleas tumbling from her lips as he made her insides shatter with his tongue and lips and fingers. "Fuck," he breathed against her thigh, heaving himself upward so their bodies were perfectly aligned once more. 

Hermione hooked her legs on his waist as he lowered his hips to hers, guiding his hard length into her mound. He let out a hiss when he was able to penetrate the tight, warm opening, his eyes falling shut at the exhilarating sensation of being wrapped completely inside her. "You feel so fucking good," he mumbled against her lips. She kissed him long and hard, and eventually the speed of his hips grew erratic, and the tension in her stomach became more prominent until another explosive feeling ruptured from her core, clamping firmly around his shaft and making him come as hard as she did. 

 

 He gathered her in his arms afterwards, and he whispered in her ear his request for her to stay, so she did, and it was the first time in years that they both finally had a good night's sleep.

 

* * *

_ 06 June 1999  _

The only form of acknowledgement he sent her way was a single nod towards her direction when they passed by each other in the hallway.

"Draco..." she called after him, and although he did stop walking, he did not even have the decency to turn around and face her.

"I'll talk to you later, Granger." was all he said before disappearing around the corner.

She waited, waited, waited all day, but she might as well been begging for a tree to notice her.

* * *

_ 07 June 1999 _

The weak rays of the rising sun touched her slouching silhouette mockingly as she waited at her usual place in the kitchen, the cold cup of coffee sitting in front of her long forgotten.  

 _He's not going to come,_ a voice repeatedly told her, but she was stubborn. And stupid.

The shuffling footsteps from outside had her heart skittering, and her back straightened as she stared with bated breath at the door.

"Good morning, 'Mione," Neville stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and sleep-tousled. "Have you just woken or are you just about to sleep?"

Hermione averted her face from her friend so he wouldn't see the tears glittering in her eyes. "I'm just about to go to bed—good night!" her voice came out high-pitched, a dead giveaway that she was hiding something. Neville blinked away the sleepiness from his eyes and gave her a concerned look.

"Hermione, are you—" he started, but the young witch had darted out of the kitchen before he could ask what was wrong.

* * *

 

_ 16 June 1999 _

She felt like a thousand knives lodged themselves inside her chest when she caught sight of him in the darkened hallway leading towards their respective bedrooms. He was leaning against the wall, and Astoria Greengrass had her body plastered against him, her mouth greedily devouring his lips as she ran her fingers through his white-blond locks. His hands were also busy wandering from her back down to her waist, his fingers teasing the waistband of Astoria's skirt.

The couple broke apart when they heard her surprised gasp, Draco's eyes looking defiant and guiltless as he stared her down. His gaze told her that she should have known better than to let her guard down and let him use her when he made no promise of fidelity or anything of that sort. He had simply acted on a whim, nothing more. And it hurt, hurt a lot more than she expected. She really should have known better.

Astoria was gushing out an apology to Hermione, blushing to the roots of her blond hair as she did so, but she paid her no notice. She blinked in rapid succession to fight back the hot sting of tears and willed her frozen feet to move. When she finally had the strength to do so, she headed towards the kitchen, not letting them see the tears rolling down her cheeks as she fixed herself a glass of firewhiskey.

* * *

_ 7 July 1999 _

"Parvati told me that Malfoy had been shagging her brains out for the past three days," Lavender whispered in Hermione's ear while they were lazily lounging in the living room, having just finished dinner and another Order meeting. "She says he's quite an animal in bed, but he seems to be tired of her already,"

Hermione ignored the splintering ache in her chest as she digested the unwanted information. She tried to don a nonchalant expression, but her facial muscles felt too weak to move. "W—what makes you say that?" she hated the way her voice shook; she fervently hoped Lavender did not notice. Her fellow Gryffindor seemed to know more than she let on, however.

Lavender propped her chin over the palms of her hands as she regarded Hermione thoughtfully. "Well, the other, night, after he shagged Parvati, instead of kicking her out of his bed, he let her stay—I don't know if he was too tired to tell her to leave, because he fell asleep right after, being the drunken sod that he was. That's when she heard him say your name in his sleep, Hermione. Parvati said he mentioned you twice." She let what she just said sink in Hermione's suddenly befuddled mind before continuing. "And last night, Parvati was positively fuming when he screamed out your name instead of hers when he came inside her,"

Hermione stared at Lavender in muted incredulity, slack-jawed and frozen in her seat. "You have got to be kidding me." she breathed out, falling back bonelessly against the couch.

Lavender assessed her with contemplative blue eyes. "I can't say I'm surprised, really," she told Hermione with a laugh. "Draco Malfoy had it coming for years—after the shitty way he treated you and calling you names—the best karma to slap him back in the face is to realize that you're everything he could possibly want but could not have,"

Hermione could do nothing but shake her head despondently at Lavender. "Th—that's not true," she licked her suddenly dry lips. "Malfoy could not possibly want me. He—he just—" Lavender held up a hand to silence her. "Hermione, are you blind? Haven't you seen the way he's been looking at you?" at Hermione's rapid head shake and horrified expression, she continued in a smug voice. "He has that predatory look on his eyes when he looks at you—he thinks we don't notice, but we do—and if you have to admit, he's been less of a tosser to you than us, right?"

"That's not true," Hermione repeated, as though she was trying to convince herself that it really wasn't. "He's been civil to everyone, as far as I know. A—and besides, if he does want me, then why is he shagging half the female population of the Order?" she glared at the thoroughly entertained look in Lavender's eyes.

"Has he really? Been slagging around here, I mean?" Lavender's brows raised skeptically. "I never pegged Malfoy as a nymphomaniac womanizer—he's kept mostly to himself until lately—I've seen him with Astoria, and Mandy Brocklehurst before that—" she paused at the revolted look on Hermione's face. "Hermione, are you okay?" she peered anxiously at the suddenly pale witch.

Hermione swallowed back the bile rising up her throat, feeling thoroughly disgusted with herself as realization finally dawned on her. So he had been with Astoria more than once... and Mandy... and Parvati... And Merlin knows who else. "Yes, I'm fine," she managed to push the words past her lips. "Can we please stop discussing Malfoy's sex life? It's literally making me feel sick to my stomach," she closed her eyes, willing the nausea to go away.

"But you have to accept the fact that he's got it bad for you—"

Hermione raised both hands to stop Lavender from continuing whatever rubbish she planned to say."He wouldn't have done—that—with the other girls—" she shuddered visibly. "—if he really wanted me, okay?"

"Honestly, Hermione, for someone so smart you sure are pretty daft when it comes to these kind of things," she commented with a haughty grin, apparently relishing on the fact that she outsmarted Hermione Granger in this field. "Of course he's going to take out his frustrations on someone else because he can't have you,"

Hermione's heart squeezed unpleasantly at Lavender's words. _But he already had me and he acted like he never wanted anything to do with me again._

"Listen, just drop it, okay?" she hoped she did not sound too affected by Lavender's words. "I'm a hundred percent sure Malfoy is not one bit interested in me. He probably just wanted to annoy Parvati,"

Lavender shook her head in disagreement and patted her arm comfortingly. "Believe what you want, but I still think he's got it bad for you."

* * *

_ 8 July 1999  _

A few hours past midnight, a very confused Draco looked everywhere for his missing stash of firewhiskey, but he came up empty-handed. Approximately two hours before sunrise he heard loud retching sounds from the bathroom. A very drunk Granger emerged from the doorway, supported on either sides by Brown and Weaslette.

He didn't miss the knowing glint in Brown's eyes, and having known that blabbing mouth of hers all the way back at Hogwarts, he was officially fucked.

* * *

_ 10 July 1999 _

"You look like shit, Malfoy."

"Check your bloody reflection in a mirror and see how ugly you look before meddling with my appearance," Draco glowered at Neville. "Piss off before I break your fucking face, Longbottom."

Neville did not seem one bit intimidated by the blond man's threat. "You've lost all the weight you gained, and you're starting to resemble a scarecrow with that—"

Draco stood up from his place at the couch as he pointed his wand at the interfering Gryffindor. "Get lost, you stupid prick—"

"Hermione's been the same way lately, I noticed," Neville interrupted casually. "She's also been having more trouble sleeping than usual, and she hasn't been eating properly—"

"Do I look like I give a fuck about what's happening to Granger?" Draco sneered, but there were traitorous snakes tangling painfully in his gut.

"I was just making an observation, that's all," Neville looked too deceptively innocent for Draco's comfort. "I thought that since you're both presenting similar symptoms, the two of you are probably suffering from a common condition—"

"Get to the sodding point, Longbottom, or I swear I'll hex you right now—"

Neville tilted his head to the side and regarded Draco thoughtfully. His scrutinising gaze made Draco's fingers itch to throw a hex on his face. "I think you and Hermione should talk." he finally said.

"That's your fucking solution? To talk?" Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. "I always knew you were sorely lacking in the brains department—"

"You have to talk about your feelings for her, Malfoy." Neville had him completely confounded with his statement.

"I don't know what you're babbling about, you barmy git—"

"Do you really want me to say it out loud?" Neville challenged, and Draco's nostrils flared, his breathing turning shallow and laboured. "We're a lot more observant than you give us credit for, Malfoy," he continued. "We all have an idea about how you feel for her—it's quite unbalancing to see, but we're in the middle of a war and we've witnessed stranger things—"

"Are you implying that I'm harbouring romantic inclinations towards Granger?!" Draco's pale complexion turned mottled with seething fury and utter humiliation at the accusation he was throwing at him. "Have you gone completely insane, Longbottom?!"

"I think we've all gone a little crazy, Malfoy," Neville answered easily. "And yes, everyone here thinks you have a soft spot Hermione—but ever since you became hellbent on avoiding her like the plague, you both started looking completely miserable—"

Draco wanted nothing more than to bury himself alive and never be seen by anyone again. After he had murdered Longbottom, of course.

"I don't have to listen to this bullshit you're spouting—" he shot out of the couch and shoved Neville from the doorway.

"You wouldn't be walking away if I hadn't hit a nerve, Malfoy—"

Draco pointed his wand threateningly against Neville's throat, his rage spiralling out of control. "Get this through your minuscule excuse for a brain—I do not give a flying fuck about Granger. She is as insignificant as any of you are to me. She is nothing—"

A loud gasp from his left alerted him of Hermione's untimely presence in the hallway.

* * *

_ 23 July 1999  _

He might as well be non-existent. She did not look at him, talk to him, or do anything at all just to indicate that she still acknowledged his presence. A lamp post had a better chance of being noticed by her than him. This was what he had wanted, he repeated over and over for the remainder of the day.

He would have welcomed her hatred. Her glares. Her infuriated comments. Anything, just about anything to indicate that she still recognized him as a person.

The gnawing feeling in his chest was getting harder to ignore as the days passed by, especially when the pain intensified tenfold every time he looked at her and she pretended he was invisible.

* * *

_ 25 July 1999 _

She sucked a breath between clenched teeth as she staggered back to her tent, trying to ignore the searing pain on her shoulder and on her twisted ankle. Blood seeped from the side of her head, dripping hotly against her neck and staining her shirt. She saw a shadow approaching from her peripheral vision, and two large hands fastened themselves on her upper arms to secure her balance.

"Let me help you get inside the infirmary, Granger." Her visual perception dimmed drastically, and she felt consciousness slipping like sand through her fingers. She grappled with the figure supporting her using the remaining fragments of her strength and pushed him away.

"I don't need anything from you, Malfoy."

She toppled over to the hard ground, but it was more welcoming than Draco Malfoy's arms.

* * *

_ 27 Jul 1999 _

She woke up with a silent scream on her lips, but her sedative-polluted system dragged her back into the nightmare she was having. A warm, familiar hand wiped away the moisture building up on her closed lids, touching her face so gently, brushing back strands of her hair with a tenderness that unnerved her.

She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but she needed his presence, at least until she was fully conscious and completely accountable for her feelings once more.

* * *

_ 29 July 1999 _

"Malfoy wouldn't leave your bedside until the medi-witch assured him you were going to live," Ginny announced quietly when she came to visit Hermione in the infirmary that afternoon. "We had to tolerate his gloomy presence every time we visited you because he just wouldn't budge from his seat, not even when Fred and George threatened to physically remove him from the room,"

Hermione released a long sigh as she stared at the windowsill. "He wasn't here when I woke up," she replied with a tinge of disappointment, her voice rusty from disuse.

"He's probably too embarrassed to let you know that he had been watching over you for the past four days," Ginny said with a knowing glint in her brown eyes. "You know I never confronted you seriously about this, Hermione, but are you and Malfoy—?"

The chestnut-haired girl shook her head, her teeth sinking down her bottom lip in disconcertion. "No. It's not what you're thinking, Ginny."

"But he's been acting really odd, especially around you—"

Hermione lifted a hand to her suddenly aching temple. "It's nothing, Gins, I promise. I'm nothing to him, and he's... not completely nothing to me, but I'm working on that,"

Ginny leaned over to brush a comforting kiss on Hermione's bruised cheek. "I'm sure you're not as insignificant to him as you think you are," she said encouragingly. "One could never guess what's lurking inside Draco Malfoy's twisted mind—he could be in love with you for all we know,"

Hermione let out a breathy laugh. "Draco Malfoy wouldn't be able to define love even if it bit him in the arse," she answered before closing her eyes and letting sleep claim her once more.

* * *

_ 31 July 1999 _

He found her sitting on her accustomed space in the kitchen, tears trickling silently down her face as she read the contents of the parchment in her hands. A cupcake with a lighted candle was placed before her, shadows of the dancing flame playing morosely across her tear-stained face. She looked up when she heard him come in, and she hastily wiped away her tears, her posture stiffening upon recognizing his silhouette. The vulnerability in her eyes made his breath catch in his throat, and he wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them and give her the comfort she obviously needed.

"Hermione?" Potter suddenly materialized behind him, along with Weasley and Weaslette. Hermione shot out of her chair so fast she nearly fell over, shouting, "Oh, Harry! I thought you wouldn't be able to make it here!" as she launched herself into her best friend's arms. She was openly sobbing now, and the Weasley siblings circled them in a group hug.

Draco swallowed back the ugly feeling of jealousy, having no choice but to blend with the shadows and walk away, feeling more out of place than ever.

* * *

_9 August 1999 _

Bumping into him in the kitchen at 2 o'clock in the morning seemed very much inevitable. While she had successfully avoided running into him during the past days, there was no escaping him now. Draco Malfoy sat in his usual spot, the predictable bottle of liquor in front of him.

She pretended she didn't see him and proceeded in making her cup of coffee. When she was done, she threw the spoon she used to stir her drink with on the sink, the loud clanging sound bouncing off the kitchen walls. She strode towards the doorway as fast as her feet could carry her, not even sparing him the briefest of glances.

"It's better off this way, Granger." his voice followed her on her way out, and she hesitantly halted her steps. She waited for him to say something more, but she seemed to be setting herself up for disappointment.

Her silent back was the only answer she had for him.

* * *

_ 17 August 1999 _

He could hear her laughter from the kitchen. Brows slamming together in agitated curiosity, he entered the threshold, and the sight that greeted him made his fists clench in barely suppressed fury.

Granger was sitting on her usual spot, and right across her (right at the very spot Draco sat on during the nights they spent together in the kitchen) was Cormac McLaggen, the arrogant twat from Gryffindor who obviously still hadn't lost interest in her since sixth sodding year. He was in the middle of rehashing a story Draco wasn't interested in hearing, but based from Granger's delighted expression, she thought otherwise.

White-hot rage coursed throughout his bloodstream when he saw what Granger was drinking. His feet shuffled forward before he could think clearly, notifying them of his presence, his storm cloud grey eyes shooting daggers at their direction.

"What the fuck are you drinking, Granger?" he snarled, earning a raised brow from her.

"I think the answer's pretty much obvious, Malfoy." she answered smoothly, her golden irises afire with irritation. "I won't insult your level of intelligence with a reply to that absurd question,"

Malfoy sucked on his teeth to bite back a highly vulgar retort. He tried to put a reign on his temper, but seeing the glass of firewhiskey on her hand made him lose his remaining sense of control. "You shouldn't be allowed within a ten-mile radius to a bottle of firewhiskey because you're a shitty drinker, Granger. You of all people should know that," he growled. Turning to face Granger fully, he continued, "Unless you're planning on drinking until you either vomit or pass out so McLaggen could shag you to his heart's content, I suggest that you get your arse back to bed and drink your fucking cup of coffee instead before you embarrass yourself—"

McLaggen rose from his seat, eyes narrowing into angry slits as he pulled his wand out, but Hermione reached over and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before swivelling towards Draco's general direction. "You have no right to insult me or Cormac in that manner—"

"I was simply telling you what that oaf's capable of doing once you're too drunk to fight off his advances—"

He could have sworn he saw a reflection of his own sneer on Granger's face. Seeing it made his stomach roll uncomfortably, because he knew he was the cause of her contemptuous attitude. "Since when did you care what I did, Malfoy?" she shot back scornfully.

He was stumped to silence with her question. He did not know what to say, so he did the only thing he was good at—he walked away without giving her any clue about what was running through his head.

* * *

_24 August 1999_

He hadn't seen her in a week. He was a constant bundle of nerves, silently searching for any clue of where she could possibly be. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to not ask his bloody housemates where she was, because the last thing he wanted was for them to get strange ideas that he actually gave a whit about her.

That evening, as he was making his way towards the kitchen to get his fill of firewhiskey until he passed out, he heard voices from the living room. 

"—heavily injured—"

"—should've informed us that she was tracking down her parents—"

"—poor Hermione, watching them die must have been devastating for her—"

"—got to be there for her when she wakes up—"

Draco strode inside the living room and found Neville, Lavender, Ginny, and Luna huddled on the couch, tears running down their faces. "Where is she?" he asked, suddenly uncaring what they thought about him now. He didn't give a fuck anymore if they were under the impression that he fancied Granger. He just wanted— _needed_ to see her. "Where's Granger?" he did not even bother concealing the panicked edge in his tone.

Ginny was the first to speak on behalf of her companions. "She's recovering from a curse Bellatrix shot at her when she tried to rescue her parents," she seemed reluctant to share this information with him. "Kingsley only managed to arrive on time—any minute later and the spell could have caused irreversible damage to Hermione," the redhead promptly burst into hapless tears once more, and Neville wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Hermione's still in the intensive care unit at St. Mungo's, and Professor McGonagall said that no one was allowed to visit yet," Lavender told him with an assessing gaze that would have unnerved Draco on a normal day, but he was filled with too much dread and perturbation to give a damn.

He wanted nothing more than to apparate to the hospital and take Hermione in his arms so he could tell her that she did not have to face anything alone—that she still had Potter and Weasley, McGonagall, the Order, her friends... _and him._  

He realized that there was no fucking use in fighting what he felt—he was hers, whether she liked it or not. Life was too short to hide the feelings that she been stirring inside him since the year began. He was not in love with her, but he was apparently kissing the emotion at the seams. 

"I need to see her," he tried to sound authoritative, but his voice traitorously cracked with emotion. The Gryffindors sitting on the couch seemed unsurprised by his vulnerable request, but Luna actually looked happy with his statement.

"I told you, he's in love with her," she murmured to Neville. "Cormac should not be the one staying with her there, he should be," she jabbed a finger at Draco's direction.

"Take him, then," Ginny muttered dully. "Let him take turns with Cormac, since the hospital only allowed one visitor to stay with her and we were all ordered by Professor McGonagall to stay here in case another battle ensues and we are needed to assist,"

Draco did not even bother to correct Lovegood's assumption about his feelings toward Granger. Wordlessly he grabbed the blond girl's arm as they apparated away.

* * *

 

_ 25 August 1999 _

He was filled so much dread he was drowning in it. With terror-hazed eyes he watched as the medical team rushed inside Hermione's room to resuscitate her limp body. The head medi-witch was shouting orders as she shoved an odd-looking tube at Hermione's left side, just below her ribcage. Black fluid immediately oozed out, and the machine monitoring Hermione's vital signs beeped erratically as they worked hard to bring her back to life.

She had been miraculously stabilized after countless potions and healing spells, much to everyone's relief. Draco had learned that the curse Bellatrix hurled at Hermione was one of the oldest and difficult spells that no one has used in decades. It was quite unbelievable that Hermione's life had been spared, although she barely made it through. Shacklebolt also revealed that it was her parents who had shielded her from his deranged aunt when she yelled out the incantation, and they took the brunt of the curse, immediately killing them off. 

He was finally allowed inside Hermione's room after a few hours of argument and a heavy amount of negotiation (he refused to admit he had resorted to begging) with the nurses. Her complexion was white as sheet, a stark contrast to the halo of unruly brown locks that framed her face. Her lips were tinged blue, and on her arm was a tube that pumped continuous blood replacement serums into her body. Quietly he crossed the threshold and wrapped her cold fingers in his palm, his heart wrenching painfully at the thought of never seeing her eyes open again.

"Granger, please wake up soon. I miss you."

* * *

_26 August 1999_

"Malfoy."

"Potter." he gave a stiff nod at the two wizards looming before his huddled figure on a cramped lounge chair. "Weasley."

Harry did not seem perturbed by Draco's lingering presence at the waiting area outside Hermione's room. Ron, on the other hand, was scowling at the blond boy, his blue eyes filled with mistrust and loathing. They filed inside intensive care unit, anxious to see their best friend, leaving Draco alone once more. After an hour or so, the two boys shuffled out, eyes red-rimmed and shoulders hunched down in despondence.

"—should not have left her here—" Ron was muttering to Harry. "—it's my fault, I shouldn't have broken up with her—"

"Staying in the safe house was her choice, Ron, who are we to stop her—"

"Yeah, but we should have realized she was planning on retrieving her parents in Australia—"

Ron clamped his mouth shut when he realised that Draco was listening to their conversation. "Malfoy," he addressed the silent Slytherin sitting before them in a brusque tone. "If you as much harm one hair on Hermione's head—"

One corner of Draco's mouth lifted in a smirk. "I think that wild, bushy thing she calls hair would do more damage to me, Weasley—"

"I'm not playing games with you, Malfoy!" Ron's voice rose, his body trembling with barely suppressed anger. "I know the people at the safe house had been repeatedly telling us that you had improved, but I still don't trust you. If you hurt Hermione in any manner, I swear it will be the last thing you'll ever do—"

Draco rolled his eyes at the redhead. "You honestly think your friends at the safe house would send me here to watch over her if they think I'll do her any harm?" he scoffed. "You think Shacklebolt would allow me here if he did not trust me at all?"

"I'm speaking about something else entirely, you slimy git, don't even pretend otherwise!" Ron looked positively murderous. Harry looked discomfited, and Draco wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Nobody spoke for a few uncomfortable moments, then Draco cleared his throat. "Whatever's going on between me and Granger is none of your business," he inwardly cursed when his voice came out in an embarrassed mumble. Ron's face turned into a bright shade of magenta at his subtle confirmation, and Harry had to reach out to grab his mate by the arm to keep Hermione's ex-boyfriend from launching himself at Draco. 

"You don't deserve her—"

"Tell me something I don't know, Weasley." Draco cut in, sounding bored. A muscle twitched on Ron's cheek, but he deflated like a punctured balloon at Draco's statement.

 

"Hermione's told us about her... friendship... with you a few months ago," Harry suddenly spoke up, his green eyes assessing Draco curiously. "Ron and I were not exactly happy about her news, but since Ginny and the others were quite supportive with the alliance you two have formed, we had no choice but to reluctantly accept her decision. She seemed happier in her letters, and she occasionally mentioned you, about how you've turned out different than what she had expected—" he did not miss how the blond boy's chin quivered, his eyes clouding over in poorly concealed guilt. "—so Ron and I did not press her any further. When we came to visit last month, we were appalled to see how miserable Hermione looked—she had obviously lost weight, and Ginny had told me that her insomnia was becoming worse. When I asked her about how things were going on between the two of you, you know what she did, Malfoy?" Harry's glasses glinted malevolently under the hospital's ceiling lights. "She cried. She refused to give us any details, but it was obvious that you did something that really hurt her. Ron and I were in blazes berating her that she should not have trusted you in the first place, but we were shocked when she held her ground and defended you. She told us that it was hardly your fault that she expected something else than what you were only capable of giving—that pretty much gave away everything Ron and I had missed when we were away."

The silence that stretched after Harry's revelation wrapped suffocatingly around Draco's chest, fracturing his breathing pattern and making him shudder in self-disgust.

"Only a fool would not realise that Hermione likes you," Harry said. "And in some twisted way, you probably feel the same way, but you think she's far too beneath you to—"

"Don't talk like you know anything about me and my feelings for Granger, Potter," Draco snarled, his grey eyes suffused with offended wrath. "And I refuse to discuss any sentimental bullshit with you two. Just piss off if you're done with your visit, and heaven forbid you wankers give me unsolicited advice about romantic affairs."

* * *

 

_29 August 1999_

Hermione was released four days later, only upon her insistence. The hospital was disinclined to discharge her because she was only beginning to recuperate, but she had been quite adamant with her decision. The longer she was alone, the more she thought about her parents. She wanted to be distracted, and the solutions were waiting for her outside the white walls of her room.

Draco Malfoy was unexpectedly waiting outside the room for her as she slung her knapsack over one sore shoulder. His presence unsettled her, but she felt too emotionally exhausted to lash out at him. "Why are you here?" she asked disdainfully, wincing slightly at the burning discomfort on her hip.

He did not even bat an eyelash at her rudeness. "I heard you were leaving the hospital today," he answered, refusing to be cowed by her angry glower. He grabbed the bag from her and held out his hand for her take. She stared at his outstretched palm like he was offering a mackled malaclaw instead. "C'mon, Granger, I haven't got all day. Hold on to my hand so we can apparate back to the safe house."

A few seconds passed before she turned around and walked away, evidently appalled at the idea of touching him. He caught up with her quickly, and he seized her by the arm so she could not escape. She tried to pull away from his grip, but he was apparently stronger than her.

"Just leave me alone, Malfoy—I don't need your help!" she was horrified when tears leaked out from her eyes, and she hastily rubbed them away. "Please—just stay away from me—" her broken plea forced him to release her, and his chest felt tight when he saw the raw anguish on her face.

"Granger, I—"

"My parents were just murdered by your aunt, so please excuse me if you're the last person I want to see right now," she said, stepping backwards and then sprinting as far as her feet could carry her away from him.

* * *

  _01 September 1999_

He sought her out that evening, just as she was about to head to the bedroom she shared with the Weasley girl. It didn't matter that she hated him—he just wanted to let her know that he was sorry for everything that he had done, and that she could still spend her sleepless evenings with him in the kitchen with her steaming cup of coffee, and him with his firewhiskey. 

She cast her eyes down when she passed by him in the hallway, but he refused to be ignored any longer. His hand shot out to grasp her by the shoulder, and she took a step away as though his touch burned her.

"Granger, we need to talk—" he told her imploringly, letting his guard down to display the vulnerability he worked hard to conceal. She did not look like she gave a damn, however.

"Oh, so now you want to talk?" she asked disbelievingly. "Well I've got news for you, Malfoy—I'm not interested in hearing whatever rubbish you're about to say. I may have been blindly foolish once, but there's no way in hell am I letting you mess with me again,"

It was sheer desperation mixed badly with longing that made him yank her towards him, his hands securely grasping both sides of her had as he crushed his lips down on hers. His mouth delivered in caressing strokes the words he failed to say, but she was unyielding to his apologetic kisses. She pushed him away, and the resounding sound of her palm cracking against his cheek echoed mockingly in the dim hallway.

"There's nothing to talk about, Malfoy," she replied icily. "You told me before you only wanted one thing from us—to stay the fuck away from you, right?" she finally raised her gaze to him, and he was jarred by the hatred he saw in those golden depths. "Now do me the same favour and leave me alone,"

* * *

  _19 September 1999_

"Happy Birthday, Hermione!" Ginny all but shoved the homemade cake towards Hermione, who accepted it with a small smile on her face. Neville pulled out parcels that had been sent by Ron and Harry, and she had to fight back her tears when she saw her friends' familiar scrawls on their birthday cards for her. Luna and the others had prepared a surprise bash as well, and so everyone in the safe house were gathered in the living room to join the festivities.

Cormac leaned over and gave her a confident, sloppy kiss on the mouth as he presented his gift for her—a rather obnoxious-looking bracelet she knew she wouldn't be caught dead wearing, but she thanked him nonetheless. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Draco watching her, his lips set in a sullen line. Then he slipped quietly out of the living room, obviously unnoticed by everyone but her.

She spent the rest of the evening making a pretense of celebrating her birthday with her friends, but her mind was a thousand miles away, most likely preoccupied with a certain blond boy who spoke so harshly but kissed so gently.

* * *

_ 20 September 1999 _

She knew he was in the kitchen even before she saw him. What baffled her, however, was the fact that he was not drinking firewhiskey—in front of him was a steaming pot of coffee, accompanied by two empty mugs.

"You sure took your sweet time coming here," he sounded miffed, as though they had been secretly planning on meeting in the kitchen on a nightly basis and she had forgotten to be right on schedule. She tried to mask her confusion with a frown, pausing by the doorway to send him a glare. When she refused to speak, he let out a long sigh, and he rubbed his temples with his fingers as if to ease an impending headache.

"Look, Granger, I just... look, I just..." the english vocabulary seemed to have deserted him entirely. Hermione mentally started counting to keep herself from responding.

_...twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three..._

"I miss you so fucking much." Her head snapped up as her stunned gaze brushed over his obviously embarrassed face.

He released a deep breath, a tortured expression crossing his features. He seemed to be fighting a losing battle with himself, the words he held in for so long suddenly flowing like a dam of water from his lips. "I miss your mindless prattle. Your unwelcome coddling. Your unnecessary words of advice. Your witty comebacks. Your smiles. Your eyes. Even the smell of your hair. Just—just everything about you, you bloody daft woman!" He had risen from his seat, and he was advancing towards her, his eyes ablaze with a myriad of emotions he was incapable of showing or putting into words. Hermione shrank back against the doorway, stepping backwards, but he had caught up with her in two easy strides. His arms wound around her small frame, hugging her so tight she could hardly breathe, his lips coasting tenderly over her hairline.

"I'm sorry, Granger." his ragged voice told her in volumes that this wasn't easy for him. Well it wasn't easy for her either, and he wasn't getting off the hook so effortlessly.

"Let me go, Malfoy." her tone came out harsher than intended. "I'm not going to make a fool of myself over a slime like you again," she choked back a sob that threatened to rip out from her throat. She pushed feebly against him, but his grip on her remained strong.

"I know that what happened between us on your birthday was so insignificant to you, but it was important for me! I..." she was unable to stop the tears that flowed hotly from her eyes. "I gave myself to you because I really thought you were special...and that somehow, you thought I was special too." she was crying harder now, and he released her from his captive embrace, his eyes downcast in undeniable guilt. "But I was wrong, wasn't I? Barely two weeks had passed and you were already shagging someone else. And then another—just to prove to me that I am just as irrelevant as the next available girl for you to sink your dick into!" she was shaking so badly she could feel her teeth rattling, her heart muscles twisting so painfully she could hardly catch her breath.

Then she asked the question she had been dreading to ask ever since she saw him with someone else.

"Were you so disgusted at the thought of having shagged a _mudblood_ like me that you needed to flush me out of your system by having sex with all of them?"

The offended rage in Draco's eyes shocked her. "That is the most asinine—" his nostrils flared, fists clenching so hard she could see his knuckles turning white. "—and stupidest thing you have ever thought of! I haven't called you that for Merlin knows how many years, and in case you were too blind to notice, I don't really give a fuck about blood status anymore—not when its the _purebloods_ who killed my mother, and you lot were the ones to save my arse!" he was breathing as harshly as she was, and looking much, much more furious.

"Then why are you hurting me this way?" she asked brokenly. "You acted like I was the most repulsive thing you ever had the misfortune of setting your eyes on after that night—"

"I said I was sorry, didn't I?" Draco's voice was starting to rise as well. "I can't take back what I did, Granger. I was an arsehole for acting that way, but it was self-preservation on my part—you had gotten under my skin, had peeled away the layers of protection I cloaked myself with—I didn't know how to deal with my fucking growing feelings for you, okay? I never planned on getting attached to you, and the idea scared the hell out of me so much that I ran out on you like the coward that I am! I thought fucking other girls and showing you that what happened between us was inconsequential would eventually make these feelings go away—but every night I found myself waiting for you to join me in the kitchen, like you did before. I craved your presence more than ever, and sometimes I feel like I'm going off my rocker because I want to touch you so badly but I can't—" he swallowed convulsively, his eyes begging her to understand. And to reconsider.

"Everything you gave to me on my birthday—it was the most precious gift anyone has ever given me. I was a tosser for letting you feel otherwise. Please say you at least believe that, Granger." he took her ice cold hands in his own freezing ones, a glimmer of hope blossoming in his chest when she gave his fingers a tiny squeeze.

"And if I do believe you? What would you do then?" she asked defiantly, looking at him with guarded brown eyes.

"I would make sure to spend the rest of my sorry life proving to you that I—" he licked his dry lips, nervousness swimming in his gut. He had never bared himself this raw to anyone in his nineteen years of existence, and he was still trying to get used to the fact that he was starting now, and with Hermione Granger nonetheless. "—that I would never ruin your faith in me again. At least not on purpose. I want another shot with you, Granger. I...I'm not saying I'm in love with you or anything, so don't worry that head of yours about my feelings. I just want to be with you, that's all. You keep me sane... and you make living this shitty life more bearable. Please let me make up for all the vile things I ever said and told you." his voice broke. "I—I can't stand the thought of you with McLaggen or any other bloke—"

He seemed out of character, even to himself, but then again so was she. Maybe they had both grown tired of how they used to be, and their constant exposure to each other brought about the inevitable changes they had no chance of controlling.

The light pressure of her lips against his answered his pleading inquiry.

* * *

_ 5 October 1999 _

"I can't sleep." he murmured against her shoulder as he pulled her snugly to him. He feathered light nips on the exposed part of her neck, and she was immediately roused from her light nap, a moan escaping her lips when he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot.

"D'you want some firewhiskey to help you sleep?" she asked sleepily, turning around to face him. His silver eyes glittered with amusement as he stared down at her.

"You know I don't need that anymore. You're the only one who can give me what I need in order to sleep soundly, Granger." Hermione smiled and nodded her assent as she kissed his nightmares away.

* * *

Author's Notes: Here are some of the songs that inspired me to finish this little one-shot:

-Scene Three: Stomach Tied in Knots by Sleeping with Sirens

-A Rush of Blood by Coasts

-You and I by Pvris

Reviews would be very welcome. :)


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